


Retrograde

by saxyad18



Series: Diverging Continuations [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Season/Series 02 Finale, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 20:58:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4114743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saxyad18/pseuds/saxyad18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz frees Jemma from the Kree stone, but at what cost? A different take on what might have happened following the season 2 finale. Not compliant with season three. </p><p>Part of the Diverging Continuations Series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read any of my other works, this first chapter will seem very familiar. That's because it's the same as the opening chapter in my other story, Reimagined. After the first chapter, the rest of the content is completely different, so I hope you'll continue reading. I dreamed up two different possible outcomes of the last scene of AOS season 2 based on that first chapter, so I decided to write them both. I hope you'll enjoy this second take on what might happen.

He tries not to lapse into the hand wringing that has become a very obvious nervous tick over the last year. The last thing he wants to do is call attention to what remains of his injury. He has made vast improvement in that time, but there are still days when it is blatantly obvious that he isn’t the man he used to be. A few minutes into the attempted conversation, he realizes that his stuttering and stumbling over words is significantly more telling than any kind of fiddling he might do with his hands. She isn’t even looking at him, and it’s clear that he is starting to irritate her with his continued unsuccessful attempts to ask the question that has been burning in the back of his throat for days.

He and many of the other Shield agents who had been called into action had spent a few days on the carrier trying to sort out the damage the inhumans had wrought under the leadership of Jaiying. Thankfully, most of them had been cooperative once the truth about their leader had come to light, but there were still countless wounds to treat and systems to repair.

One he returned, he found her far too busy tending to Bobbi’s many injuries and doing what she could for Coulson's arm to confront her about her parting words to him, and now that she has access to the Kree stone she seems too enamored with her new project to focus on what he is trying to express.

“No. I don’t,” she responds to his latest attempt with exasperation. “You keep rambling on and on and I still don’t know what you mean.”

“Dinner,” he begins, but he can’t seem to get out any of the other words he wants to say. His nerves are getting the better of him.

“Fast approaching, yes,” she agrees distractedly. “And we’ll eat it, I’m sure.” She is attempting to make sense of the readings their equipment is taking from the artifact. She has a sinking feeling that they need to understand as much as they can about this object as soon as possible. Already deeply mistrustful of alien artifacts, she finds this one even more off-putting than usual and it’s making her feel on edge.

Resolved not to be deterred either by his linguistic limitations or her apparent disinterest in anything to do with him, he presses on, stumbling to the point that it will be a miracle if she can understand what he is trying to ask: “Yeah, no, no, no. But, uh. Me and you, maybe we could eat somewhere else, you know. Somewhere…nice.”

He reaches up to fiddle with the edge of the container, desperate for something to do with his hands and body that don’t add to the nervousness and insecurity clearly evident in his voice.

Upon hearing his stuttered question, she finally stops staring at the monitor to face him. At first, she simply looks, the weight and underlying meaning of the question completely eluding her comprehension. Then, she nods slightly as she begins to understand his meaning. At least she hopes she understands it.

She thought he had no intention of having anything to do with her beyond their half-healed, purely platonic friendship. He’d found her attempt at a conversation about their feelings at least ill-timed if not completely unnecessary several days ago, and he hadn’t made any attempt to restart that conversation despite her final words. She assumed that he was trying to let her down gently, but now she sees that he was just biding his time.

“Oh,” she manages, at a complete loss for words in the face of the enormity of the opportunity he’s presenting. Smiling slightly in case she has completely misread the situation, she searches his eyes to see if this is really what he wants or if he is just trying to be kind. The wary hope she sees is enough to convince her that he is willing to give her and them a chance. She is desperate not to bungle it this time and a little giddy at the though of at least being able to make an attempt.

When he shifts a little and ends up losing his precarious balance on the edge of the container, the slight awkwardness of the moment breaks, and she can’t help but smile, both at his bashful demeanor and the promise of the evening to come. Just when she had started to lose hope, he’d offered her exactly what she needed to believe in more, just as he had always done.

He finds her initial reaction a little underwhelming, but, as he rambles on, he sees a twinkle in her eyes and her smile deepen, like she knows what he meant to ask rather than what he did and she finds the thought very pleasing.

“Good, okay. Uh, well, you should come find me when you’re finished here, and I’ll start working on options to run by you…for that,” he offers as he retreats out of the room. He’s left the ball firmly in her court again, and now it’s just a matter of waiting to see what she decides to do with it. He hopes it doesn’t take her months or the possible demise of one of their colleagues to reach a decision this time. Still, the brightness in her eyes as he’d caught her gaze just before his departure and the words she spoke just before he left for the carrier give him more hope than he has ever had that he might be more to her as well.

* * *

 

The happiness buzzing inside of him gives him a kind of manic energy that makes him especially productive in the Garage. It’s been months since he’s been able to think with this kind of clarity or build with this level of precision. His hands hardly shake, but on the few occasions that they do he manages to avoid the feelings of frustration he usually wallows in during those moments because he’s too excited about his evening plans.

Despite his efficiency, he does find his mind wandering more often as the hours wear on. He muses over where they might go, what they might eat, and what they might say. That last bit makes his stomach clinch uncomfortably. There are so many possible directions for the conversation to take, and he hopes that they’ll both be satisfied and pleased by the end of it.

He is so caught up in his thoughts that he never notices when he really stops doing anything productive or how quickly the time has passed. When he finally shakes himself out of his trance and glances at the clock, he realizes that it’s well past eight in the evening. She must have gotten caught up in her work as well, he thinks. It wouldn’t be the first time they had both worked through dinner. Still, in the back of his mind, he can’t help but worry that she has changed hers in the last few hours.

He knows that he told her to find him, but he’s too anxious to wait for her arrival, so he sets off to seek her out. Of course, the first place he looks is the storage room where they had placed the Kree stone. He is a little surprised when he doesn’t find her there and very surprised that she left before making sure the door on the container was closed, especially since she is forever harping about safety protocols and procedures. At least it will give him something to tease her about at dinner.

* * *

 

He wanders around the base for the next twenty minutes, fully expecting to see her engaged in some conversation or pouring over some dataset on her tablet. The longer he searches, the more nervous and downtrodden he feels. She must have changed her mind, he decides. He must have misread her reaction earlier. Though clearly distressed by this latest rejection, he is determined that they will at least attempt to hash out their feelings tonight, whatever they may or may not be. Neither of them can keep going on as they are. It’s too painful and awkward.

His feelings of disappointment begin to morph into fear when agent after agent admits that they haven’t seen her for hours. Once he has repeated his question more than a dozen times, the fear turns into an icy ball in his stomach. He backtracks to the Garage and uses the holotable to pull up the security feed for the storage room. If he knows when she left, he’ll at least have some kind of starting point.

He watches their conversation with a critical eye, thankful that he has left the sound off for now. He winces at his awkward posture and fumbling but feels some of the dread disappear when he sees her smile genuinely after his departure. He hadn’t misread her after all. She did want to see where this thing between them could go. His happiness is fleeting.

He swears his heart stops beating entirely from the moment she turns toward the container until the artifact reforms into a solid mass around her flailing limbs. At first, he can only stare at the unchanging image on the screen as the footage continues to play. He is in complete disbelief. What he saw didn’t really happen. It couldn’t have.

He jabs at the icon that will reverse the video and unmutes the sound. He hears their conversation and notices the faint noise of something unlatching and depressurizing as his hands slips off the container: something he had missed completely in the moment. He holds his breath as the rest of the conversation plays out. His eyes widen almost painfully when he notices that the door is ajar at nearly the same time she does—the door that his clumsiness had apparently unlatched.

He hears her murmur in irritation before gasping as the solid turned liquid erupts from the container. Her aborted scream for help rings in his ears and the sight of her clawing ineffectually at the ground feels like it has been burned permanently onto his retinas.

He allows himself one more moment to gape in horror as he replays the feed again before he tears out of the Garage and sprints to the storage room. What little remains of his heart plummets when he remembers that he had walked into this room less than an hour ago and closed the door on what has become her prison without a single concern for her. His only thought was to tease her. In this moment, he feels sure that he will never laugh again.

Upon entering the room, he flings open the door to the container without any thought for his safety. He slams his hands against the stone repeatedly, calling her name frantically as if she might answer him. He continues his ineffective assault for several moments before crumpling to the ground and giving into the sobs that threaten to tear him apart.

She’s gone and he’s the one to blame. He is the reason that she has been pulled into some alien rock. He won’t give into the thoughts that she might be dead yet. He’s seen too many alien objects prevent people from dying or bring them back from certain death. For the sake of his own sanity, he has to believe that she is still alive and that there is a way to bring her back if he is smart enough to find it.

Forcefully stifling his sobs, he presses his palm one last time to the object that now seems like it has only ever been solid stone. He won’t get anywhere by sitting here crying. Simmons needs him more than ever before. This is the damn Chitauri virus incident on steroids. He’d helped her solve the problem then, and he’ll be the one to solve it now. Rushing back to the Garage, he pulls up the readings from the device and gets to work analyzing its compounds and racking his brain for a solution to the problem. Every so often, he gazes around at his tools, attempting to discern which if any of them will help him bring her back.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz rescues Jemma, but is he too late?

In the end, it takes nine agonizing days before he has a workable solution. He plans, drafts, and builds machine after machine in a whirlwind of unprecedented productivity. Even before the pod, he never built with this speed or accuracy. Now that her life is on the line, he seems to find some hitherto unknown reserve of skill and talent. It’s a pity that he’s far too caught up in saving her to notice it.

Everyone on the base chips in where they can, which mostly involves fetching random pieces of technology or forcing him to stop at least once every eight hours to eat something. After two days of furious protest at the interruption, he finally relents to their efforts, deciding that he’ll lose less time if he scarfs down whatever they bring him than he will trying to get them to leave. No matter what he consumes, it tastes like ash.

By the ninth day, he’s poured over her sparse notes and the countless measurements he’s taken so many times that he can recite them effortlessly. The shadows under his eyes and pallor of his skin have taken on an almost unearthly quality. Privately, his teammates reflect that he didn’t look this fragile even after being dragged from the bottom of the ocean, but they wisely keep their observations to themselves. They know well that they’ll lose him too if they can’t bring her back. For as much as they bickered in the past months, they are still a matched set. The tragedies they’ve experienced have only brought that truth into sharper relief.

Nearly to the point of giving up hope as he runs low on even fanciful ideas, he passes a frustrated hand through his already mussed hair. When Skye accidentally knocks one of his tools to the ground, he whirls around, ready to take out his frustration on her before the sound makes him pause. In years to come, he’ll never be sure if the feeling of his world slowing down was because of his utter exhaustion or because of the certain clarity he has in that moment.

Briefly, as it slides off the metal table and clatters to the floor, the tool resonates loudly, and the sound inverts his understanding of all the data he’s memorized over for the last week.

“Resonant frequencies,” the people in the room hear him mutter once before he shouts. “Resonant frequencies! That’s it!’

He continues to ramble as his wild thoughts finally coalesce into what might actually be both a feasible and effective plan: “If I can find the natural resonance, maybe add some lasers to measure, and perhaps electromagnets, yes, to boost and contain, then destabilize the bonds…”

Equations and numbers run rampant through his head, and he’s hard pressed to get down the most important ones on paper before they slip away to make room for more. In mere minutes, he sketches out a rough blueprint of the device he needs and feels his confidence skyrocket. It will work. It has to.

* * *

He takes only as much time as is absolutely necessary to render a few diagrams and flowcharts for the benefit of his teammates before sprinting to Coulson’s office. It pains him to acknowledge that Simmons wouldn’t have needed the visual aids to understand his plan. If the Director finds Fitz’s disheveled appearance and manic expression disheartening, he makes no comment. He listens carefully, only understanding about half of the jargon, but comprehending immediately the danger Fitz’s plan could present for the base, Fitz himself, and Simmons.

“I need you to run some computer simulations and at least one small scale test before we try using enough power to completely destabilize the stone. We don’t know if Simmons is trapped inside or if it whisked her off to another dimension. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Coulson warns.

Fully prepared to throw caution to the wind to get his partner back, Fitz bristles at the thought of having to jump through hoops. To his mind, his plan is flawless with the only exception that they haven’t put it in action yet. Still, he knows that he won’t get anywhere without Coulson’s blessing, so he agrees to the tests, grumbling under his breath as soon as he exits the office.

He needs only a few hours to put together the devices and design a control program. This solution is so elegantly simple he wonders why he didn’t think of it sooner. Simmons would have, he’s sure.

* * *

After confirming the viability of his plan through the computer simulations, he is ready to witness his devices in action. His frustration nearly reaches a breaking point when Coulson and May insist that he run the test remotely. Coulson refuses to risk the safety of anyone on the base even if it means getting Simmons back. If they can rescue her, Simmons will be beside herself if another agent is harmed in their attempt, and he has no way of knowing whether or not the Kree artifact can be contained again once they set it loose.

Fitz finds his caution grating, but he follows the orders to the letter, hoping that his cooperation will put them that much closer to rescuing Simmons. Since he hadn’t been at all concerned with the aesthetics of the design, the configuration of lasers, electromagnets, and other assorted technologies he cobbles together and places about the room seem closer to a shoddily completed child’s science fair project more than the work of a genius engineer. A few of them wonder if he really has lost his mind when they see the final product, and Coulson feels sure that he’s made the right call in ordering these tests. He’s not entirely sure what Fitz’s devices will do, if anything, and he's only willing to find out now that they are as far away from the Kree stone as they can be.

They all stand in silence as Fitz powers up his devices. For the first few minutes nothing happens, and they glance at him warily, but he looks completely unfazed. Soon, they begin to hear a low kind of humming, and the surface of the stone starts to waiver slightly, like asphalt on blazing summer day. When the top left corner begins to lose its structure, almost as if it’s melting, Coulson calls for Fitz to stop the test, but he carries on, unable to stop now that his efforts are finally having the desired effect.

“Shut it down now, Fitz,” he barely hears Coulson shout. The blood is rushing in his ears. He’s close, so close to getting her back, and it’s all he can think about. Nothing else matters.

“I said shut it down!” Coulson yells again, swiftly moving toward the distracted engineer.

Mack reaches Fitz first, and pulls the pad from his grasp to key in the necessary sequence to halt the test. He’s just finished when something briefly emerges from the material. Everyone’s eyes widen as they catch sight of a hand just before the stone solidifies once more.

Fitz immediately reaches for the pad, perfectly willing to wrench it from Mack if necessary. She’s there, and they can get her back. It takes little effort for Mack to fend him off, more because Fitz is about to collapse from exhaustion than anything else.

“Give it back, Mack. She’s there. We’ve got to get her out!” he splutters and spits.

“Fitz, that’s enough,” May commands, her tone abiding no refusal.

Fitz quiets immediately, but his eyes dart frantically between the screen and the pad still held out of his reach.

“We can’t know what will happen if you run it at full power, Fitz. We need to take precautions before you do, for her sake and for ours,” Coulson tries to reason with him.

“Triple check the security of that room and figure out a way to run Fitz’s device without compromising it or bringing down the base,” he instructs Mack.

Turning to Skye and May, he rattles off more orders: “Go check in with the medical team. Let them know what’s going on, and help them gather whatever they might need. I want them standing by when we do this. We don’t know what kind of shape she’ll be in when we break her out, and I want them prepared for any possibility.”

“I want everything ready first thing in the morning. If I have my way, this will be the last night she spends stuck in whatever the hell that thing is,” he gestures to the monitor.

Turning to Fitz last, he reaches out his hand, but pulls it back immediately when he sees the younger agent flinch. “Fitz, I know you want to get her out right now, but we have to be ready. I only want to have to do this once, for everyone’s sake. We’ll need you at your best when the time comes, so please, try to go get some sleep.”

Fitz starts to protest before he thinks better of it. He knows that there will be no talking Coulson out of his asinine plan. His best option is to help Mack with the prep work to speed up the process, and that is exactly what he intends to do.

Unfortunately, his teammates know him too well. May had been prepared for any number of possible outcomes for this field test, knowing that Coulson would never allow Fitz to run the devices at full capacity even if the result were positive. There were just too many variables to risk it. With ease and efficiency, she jabs Fitz with the hypodermic needle and injects him with a mild albeit fast-acting sedative. Fitz is out like a light almost immediately, but he has just enough time to spin around and stare at her with accusation and disbelief.

“He’s going to be pissed when he wakes up,” Mack states bluntly as he hauls Fitz into a fireman’s carry in preparation for the trek back to the residential wing of the base.

“I know, but at least he won’t be dead on his feet. If something goes wrong, he’ll be the only one who will be able to fix it. We need him well-rested when we try this,” May responds coolly. She hates this situation as much as any of them. She’d handpicked the duo after all, and she always feels at least partially responsible when anything they’re involved in goes wrong.

It’s late in the evening when they finally finish the necessary preparations. With the first seed of hope in their hearts since they discovered what happened, they retire quickly, trying to get a few hours of sleep before they set their plan in motion.

* * *

The drug wears off as quickly as it had taken effect. One minute, Fitz rests on his bed, deeply asleep. The next, he bolts upright, his eyes darting around the space frantically to determine where he is. Though not as restful as natural sleep, the forced respite has given his brain time to recharge, if only a little. Reaching back to rub the sore spot on his neck, he silently curses May before realizing his luck.

It’s late, which means that nearly everyone will be asleep. If he plays his cards right, he should be able to get back to the storage room and free Jemma before anyone is the wiser, Coulson’s plan be damned.

Creeping silently through the corridors, he first stops at the Garage, searching the space in the dark and praying his intuition is right. A moment later his fingers curl around his prize. Just as he expected, Mack had left his pad on his usual workbench. Clutching it firmly to his chest, he darts back into the hallways, taking the long route to the storage room, hoping that he won’t run into any of the few agents who will still be awake at this time of night.

Fate, it seems, is on his side, as he enters the room without encountering a single person. He works quickly to recalibrate the devices and make minute adjustments to their placement throughout the room. Once satisfied, he opens the door to the container, fully aware that he is very likely condemning himself to the same fate if anything goes wrong. Still, if it works, he doesn’t want there to be any chance of the stone reforming around her.

Taking one final breath, he picks up his pad and begins keying in the sequence to activate the devices.

“You gonna turn them on?” Mack’s voice echoes in the room.

Fits jumps at the sound, biting out a question as he tries to calm his racing heart and steady his now trembling hands: “How did you know I’d be here?”

“You’re too in love with her not to do something stupid,” Mack offers. He’d been suspicious earlier due to Fitz’s easy acceptance of the delay and had set a few alarms to notify him if Fitz entered either the Garage or this storage room. Clearly his instincts had been on the mark.

“Don’t try to stop me!” Fitz warns in a panic, knowing full well that if Mack wants to stop him he will be defenseless against it.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Mack responds easily.

He hates the Kree stone with every fiber of his being, but for once he thinks Coulson is being too cautious. If ever there were a moment to take a chance no matter the risks, it was earlier when Jemma’s hand had appeared. Feeling guilty for his part in that aborted rescue effort, Mack had decided to help Fitz if he attempted to free her before the time Coulson appointed. There is no point letting the woman suffer any longer if she is alive, he thinks, and no point dragging out their need to mourn her if she isn’t.

Momentarily stunned by this show of solidarity, Fitz can only gape. Then, he shakes his head as if to clear it before entering the final commands to start the program controlling the devices.

“Get ready,” he warns Mack as he splits his attention between the screen and the currently solid stone.

Again, nothing happens at first, but even sooner than before the stone’s surface begins to shimmer and lose structural integrity. Fitz pushes his devices perhaps a little harder than he should, but he is too close to having her back to act logically.

When Fitz has destabilized the material to the point that Simmons is mostly free of its hold, he can’t decide which sight is more horrifying: her apparently lifeless body or the seemingly sentient stone trying to maintain its grip. As soon as he dares, Mack reaches out a hand to grab Simmons, perfectly aware that he is throwing himself head first into a very dangerous situation. The Kree material pulls at her like quicksand, and he has to use every bit of his strength to yank her free.

When they tumble to the ground, Fitz can’t even look over to make sure they are safe. He has already initiated the second sequence of commands intended to force the stone back to its solid state, but it’s not going according to plan. All he can manage to do is halt its movement for a split second before it resumes boiling and advancing toward his teammates. He pours himself into the task of containing it, modifying his program on the fly and boosting the power to his devices far beyond where he should.

As Fitz struggles to keep the material at bay, Mack gently but swiftly arranges Simmons on the ground, her waxy, cool skin and dull eyes leading him to believe that all their work may have been for nothing. When he grasps her wrist to check for a pulse, he’s surprised to find one, weak and thready though it is, but his relief is short-lived when he realizes that she’s not breathing. He immediately begins mouth-to-mouth, hoping that they aren’t too late to revive her and get her to the medical wing for whatever care she needs. A few minutes in, he also begins chest compressions when he can no longer feel her pulse.

All the while, Fitz keeps up a steady stream of curses as his fingers fly across the pad. Eventually, his daring and some might even say reckless modifications start to work consistently. As each minute passes, he comes closer and closer to forcing the Kree artifact back into its solid state. As soon as he finally does, he drops the pad to the floor and slams the container door shut before re-engaging the locks. Panting, he turns quickly to Mack and Jemma.

By the time Fitz finishes, Mack is lightheaded from his efforts, which have been in vain. Despite the attempt, Simmons has not resumed breathing on her own and he can’t seem to restart her heart. Fitz falls to his knees beside them right as Mack gently closes the lids over her soulless eyes.

Crushed, Fitz can only watch Mack’s actions in horror. He feels a huge piece of himself die with her, and he briefly wonders if this was how she felt when he pressed the button in the pod. Perhaps for the first time, he understands her fear. If he'd known this was what it would feel like to lose her, he would have been hard pressed to ignore the desperate desire to wrap her in cotton and hide her away from anything that could harm her. Swallowing back the tears that will fall no matter what, he reaches out to pick up her hand, intending to lay it across her chest.

As soon as their hands meet, he feels a shock run through his skin, and he can only watch in amazement as her back arches and she sucks in a raspy breath before her body collapses back to the ground, her chest rising evenly as she beings to breathe on her own. Too stunned by the sudden turn of events to move, he leaves Mack to check for a pulse.

“I don’t know what the hell you just did, Turbo,” he pants, still a little out of breath from his rescue efforts, “but she’s back. Heart’s strong and breathing is steady.”

When Fitz’s tears finally fall, they are from joy rather than sorrow.

* * *

As Fitz watches over Jemma, Mack wakes the rest of their team to alert them to this latest development. Coulson is disappointed in their actions, but he’s not surprised nor is he sorry for the outcome. When they settle Simmons in the quarantine room, he doesn’t even have the heart to scold Fitz, who has finally lost the haggard expression that has been his constant companion for days.

They aren’t surprised when Simmons does not regain consciousness the next day or the day after. Her body had been through a traumatic experience after all. The medics take the opportunity to run every test they can think of to ensure that her time in the stone has had no ill effects. They are shocked when they discover that her body shows no sign of issue other than slight dehydration. It’s as if she’s been in stasis all the while. Convinced for the moment that she poses no greater threat than usual, they move her into the makeshift medical wing with Bobbi, where they have more access to equipment should anything go wrong unexpectedly.

When she remains unconscious for several more days, they begin to worry that she might never break free of the coma. They have rescued her from her physical prison, but they never considered that she might need help escaping a mental one as well. The medics assure them that continued unconsciousness is a common way for a body to cope with trauma, but the team can tell that they are just as concerned with Simmons’s lack of progress.

For days, they take turns sitting with Fitz as he holds a never-ending vigil at her beside. The joy he had so recently found at her rescue fades into worry laced with mild panic the longer she fails to awaken. Bobbi bares witness to the tragic scene, her own slow recovery no longer the loudest thought in her mind. She and Hunter have had their share of horrific experiences, the most recent perhaps the worst of all, but she always knew he loved her, and she knows that he is sure of her love for him as well.

She feels fairly confident that Simmons hadn’t been able to articulate her feelings for Fitz before this latest separation. They had been clear enough to Bobbi during their conversation before all hell broke loose in San Juan, but the duo hadn’t seemed any closer to reaching an understanding on that front before the battle with the inhumans. As she watches him in what must be a tragic reprise of Simmons’s experience of his coma, she hopes desperately that they’ll have the chance.

* * *

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma regains consciousness, but they're all in for a rude awakening.

As she regains consciousness, the first thing she notices is an incessant, steady beeping, which her overwhelmed mind eventually identifies as a heart monitor. Too tired and muzzy-headed to even consider opening her eyes, she lets the rhythmic sound ease her back into reality very slowly.

When she finally manages to lift her heavy lids, she is relieved as familiar faces come into view. It takes a few moments for her eyes to really focus, but there is no mistaking the cadre of sentinels at her bedside. May, Coulson, and Skye look at her prone form with undisguised relief. She wonders how long they’ve been waiting for her to wake up.

She isn’t surprised when her muscles protest as she gingerly eases herself into an upright position. There was no way she would make it out of the situation unscathed. Frankly, she’s shocked that she made it out at all.

“Welcome back, Agent Simmons,” Coulson greets eagerly as he helps her to find a comfortable position.

“It’s very nice to be back, sir,” she replies quietly, though with the same enthusiasm, returning his heartfelt smile. She had been worried that she would never see her team again, and she is relieved to see them here now.

As soon as the brief conversation ends, a medic scurries into the room, checking monitoring equipment and noting pertinent details on the tablet she carries.

“We’ve been monitoring you closely, Agent Simmons, and you seem right as rain,” she explains as she removes the IV from Simmons’s arm, “but we’d like to continue checking your vitals for another day or so just to be sure.”

“Of course,” Simmons agrees easily. She feels rather like she’s floating or drifting, as if her vast swathes of her brain aren’t functioning or are but only just barely. Everything seems both muted and exaggerated at the same time, and the conflicting sensations are distracting and daunting. As she half-heartedly engages in the small talk they’ve initiated, an inexplicable tendril of fear starts to make itself known. She feels as if she has forgotten something rather significant, but she doesn’t have time to dwell on it.

She’s chagrined to have completely failed to notice the two other people in the room until now, especially since the woman is also confined to a hospital bed. Based on a quick observation of the stitches and fading bruises, Simmons is pleased to note that she is well on her way to recovery as well.

Though still feeling quite addled, she remembers her manners and speaks softly to the pair.

“I’m sorry. How terribly rude of me. I’m Agent Jemma Simmons, biochemist for Coulson’s team,” she introduces herself and waits for them to respond in kind.

Bobbi and Hunter find her statement completely baffling. Simmons is acting as if she’s never seen them before.

“Jemma?” Bobbi begins to question slowly, fearing that her friend and colleague may not be ‘right as rain’ after all, but her voice is completely lost to Simmons, who has caught sight of something miraculous on the other side of the glass wall.

* * *

 

Fitz had been reluctant to leave her side since her return from the stone, but Skye and May had finally forcibly removed him from her room earlier that day, promising that he could return as soon as he’d slept at least 6 hours in a bed, taken a shower, and eaten a real meal. Simmons hadn’t made any progress since her return, and there had been no sign to indicate that she would in his absence. He’d been fitfully dozing when he received Skye’s call. Not bothering to let her finish, he had rushed through the corridors of the base to return to their cobbled together medical bay as soon as he heard the words “she’s awake.”

As soon as he has crossed the threshold, Jemma launches herself at him, heedless of the pulse oximeter that jerks from her finger and her own unsteady limbs.

“Fitz,” she cries in obvious relief and joy as she plows into him and wraps her trembling arms around his lanky torso.

Though stunned by her quick movements, he folds his arms about her and presses a soft kiss to the crown of her head before resting his cheek against it. He had all but given up hope of being able to embrace her like this ever again. Since freeing her from the stone, each day had diminished the chance that she would ever regain consciousness. Words can’t adequately describe his elation that she has and that she seems no worse for the wear.

He feels the moment the trembles change from exhaustion to release as the rest of her emotions catch up with her. Not long after, her tears begin to dampen his shirt. He is about to disentangle their limbs to brush the moisture from her cheeks when she catches him off guard again.

Pulling back, she gives him a huge grin before surging up to catch his lips in a hearty and meaningful kiss. He’s nearly too stunned to respond, but he does remember to kiss back after a few seconds, completely content to follow her lead.

She releases him a moment later, neither of them at all concerned with their audience. Then he does reach up to cup her cheek in his hand, running his thumb across her face to clear at least some of her tears. She places her hand over his, smiling widely even as her breath hitches.

“You’re more than that, too, and I thought I’d lost you forever,” she croaks.

“I’m here, Jem, and you’re going to be fine. I promise,” he soothes. The bubble of happiness in his chest from her words feels like it might break him in two, but he can’t imagine a more perfect moment.

* * *

 

“Fury seemed so uncertain,” she begins to babble, completely unaware that every word that spills out of her mouth cuts him as if it were a knife. “He said that your heart was barely beating, but that he had a full medical team with you. I wanted so much to be at your side, but he’d put me in a decompression chamber, and all I could do was worry about brain death at worse and hypoxia at best. But, you’re okay. I haven’t a clue how, but you are okay!”

She buries her head back in his shoulder, overcome with relief once again and needing to feel him close without the threat of imminent death lingering over them. Her relief is short-lived, however, when he tenses and freezes noticeably in her arms.

She pulls back again, worried by the confusion and emerging horror on his face. She fails to notice that the other people in the room have matching expressions.

”Fitz?” she questions quietly, now reaching her hand up to touch his cheek. He grabs it before she can make contact.

“Jemma,” he manages to rasp before he has to swallow. Her latest confession has left him with a mouth that seems to be made of sawdust and a tongue that feels heavy as led. “What year is it?”

“2014, of course,” she answers automatically, completely bewildered by his question.

“Oh, god,” he wheezes as his grip on her tightens. “What’s the last thing you remember?” he then asks frantically.

The urgency and fear in his tone make her anxious and scared, as do the memories his question draws up.

“The pod, we were,” she stutters, her explanation unintelligible to everyone but him. “You said, and then the button, and I swam, and Fury rescued us because of the beacon. We were on the plane.” She is shaking by the end of it, her face having morphed from utter joy to complete uncertainty in the span of a minute.

“Fitz?” she says only his name, but in that word he can hear the thousands of questions that she wants to ask but for which she can’t find the words.

“Jem,” he begins slowly, his face full of heartbreak. “That was more than a year ago.”

“No,” she refutes immediately. She refuses to believe that she doesn’t remember the last year of her life.

“You’re lying,” she accuses desperately, her fingers clenching and unclenching in the fabric of his shirt and she stares into his too wide eyes. “If this is payback from the whipped cream incident, I’ll remind you that it wasn’t me. This is a cruel prank, Fitz.”

She glances over her shoulder at May, Coulson, and Skye, hoping that one of them will let her in on the joke. It has to be a joke. But one glance at them makes her wildly beating heart feel as if it has dropped from her chest. They look as heartbroken as he does, and in that moment she forces herself to consider the possibility.

She turns back to Fitz, but her mind, now much clearer than before, begins to catalog the minute changes and signs that she had dismissed since waking. Fitz’s hair is shorter, he has stubble on his cheeks, and he not wearing a tie with the button down he’s only fastened partially, a look completely contrary to the well-kempt style he has had since she taught him how to dress at the Academy. Skye doesn’t look at all like what she had the last time Jemma had seen her either. Her hair is different, and she carries herself with a sense of confidence she never has before. Part of Coulson’s arm is missing, and May is dressed in casual clothing. Perhaps most telling, the two other agents still seem shocked by her introduction, as if she should know them.

As every detail flashes across her mind, she starts to repeat the word ‘no’, as if verbalizing it will somehow change the truth with which she is now confronted. In an effort to self-sooth, she runs her fingers through her own hair, only to freeze when the strands slip free much sooner than they should.

Her breath beginning to come in sharp pants, she breaks from Fitz’s hold to wobble over to the only mirror in the room. It’s small and badly in need of cleaning to remove the smudges on its surface, but her reflection is clear enough to confirm the nightmare that has become her life.

At the sight of her nearly foreign visage, she begins to hyperventilate. She struggles for every breath and feels as if she is choking on broken glass. Completely unable to cope, she turns back to Fitz and weakly calls his name as she reaches for him.

She only manages two steps before fainting dead away. Thankfully, May is close enough to catch her and lay her gently on the ground. Fitz is at her side immediately, snatching up her limp form and holding her close as he struggles to come to terms with this latest blow.

He nearly snarls at the medics who return to replace her on her bed, but eventually he relinquishes his hold on her. Once they finish their tasks, he resumes his place at her side, clutching her hand in his. For several moments, the room is deadly silent other than the sound of his ragged breaths and her heart monitor.

“Fitz,” Coulson murmurs as he places a hand on the younger agent’s shoulder. When Fitz fails to react at all to the contact, Coulson lets out a soft sigh. “We’ll do what we can when she wakes up again. Whatever she needs, she’ll have it. At least we have her back.”

The words sound hollow to everyone in the room, but at the moment there is nothing else to be said, nothing else to be done. 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When (because I can't take the thought of if) they get Simmons out of the stone or back from wherever it has sent her, I can't imagine that she'll return completely unscathed. Rather than having it grant her powers or add something else, I thought it would be interesting to see what would happen if it took something away instead. Imagine how different last season would have been if Fitz hadn't been in a coma for nine days and if Simmons hadn't gone to Hydra. In this fic, that is the reality for Simmons; at this point, she doesn't remember any of that happening, so the changes we saw in her personality as a result won't exist either. It made sense to me to take her back to when she wakes up in the decompression chamber since it was probably the most traumatic and defining moment of her life. She lived and she isn't sure he will.
> 
> The rest of this fic will be an exploration of how she and Fitz navigate their relationship now that she's lost a year's worth of memories and how they overcome the challenges that arise when some of her memories return. She'll also resume or redevelop her friendships with the other characters as well. I hope you'll join me on the journey.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma confronts the reality of her situation and struggles to cope as she attempts to find her way through it.

Unlike the first time she awoke, her second return to consciousness is almost violent in its intensity. She jolts as she morphs from blissfully unaware to a state of almost hyper alertness. Everyone muscle in her body is tensed nearly to the point of pain, as if she’s preparing for a fight, and she swears it feels like a scream is stuck somewhere between her lungs and mouth. It’s the feeling of déjà vu, however, that disorients her most of all.

At some point in the year she apparently can’t remember, she was fighting for her life, and, if her vague sense of utter dread is anything to go by, she wasn’t winning that fight. Confronted with the choice to give into hysteria again or to breathe through her panic to try to find some sense of control in the madness that has become her life, she opts for the second path and begins forcing her panicked inhalations to slow and even out.

When she finally manages to take ten full breaths, she takes stock of her surroundings. Fitz is passed out just to the left of her bed. He must have been holding her hand at some point during her bout of unconsciousness because his fingers are only millimeters from her own. She’s itching to reach out and grab his hand, still in disbelief that he’s alive and walking and talking on his own. From her perspective, her conversation with Fury happened only a few hours ago and Fitz should by all rights be dead.

Still, as much as she needs the comfort of his touch, she doesn’t dare close the scant gap between their hands. The shadows under his eyes are a deep, disturbing violet, and it’s clear by his continued sleep despite all her movement since waking that he needs the rest more than she needs the comfort.

For the next few moments, she tries to convince herself that her most recent interaction with him was nothing more than a vivid dream. She wants to believe it. She isn’t sure how she is going to cope with losing an entire year. What had happened? What has she forgotten?

Despite her fervent wishes, she knows that Fitz’s words are the truth the minute her gaze rests on the blonde agent convalescing in the bed on the opposite side of the room. Jemma can’t speak the woman’s name or even her division, but she’s familiar now in a way that a complete stranger shouldn’t be, and Jemma feels a niggling sense of both gratitude and betrayal, which doesn’t make the least bit of sense. Still, Jemma remembers now how the woman had imbued her name with such emotion when she had called to her. I must know her, she thinks to herself, I wish I could remember who she is and why she seems so important.

Jemma is horrified to notice that the woman’s knee is still in a brace but clearly in need of immediate reconstructive surgery. She realizes quickly that this mystery agent’s other injuries must have been so extensive as to make such an operation too much of a risk. Jemma’s mind whirls with the kind of damage that this woman must have had to her body for that to be the case. Her stomach turns at the thought, and she’s left again wondering what she’s lost and how she’ll function without it.

She strains to remember what might have happened, but nothing comes of all her efforts. When May walks in a half hour later to check on her injured teammates, she finds Simmons staring at a wall with her brow furrowed in intense concentration. She’s pleased to see the young woman awake and not in a state of panic. So focused is Simmons’s attention on the nothingness before her and in her mind that she fails to hear the older woman enter or call her name repeatedly.

“Agent Simmons,” May calls sharply but reluctantly. She doesn’t want to cause her teammate any more harm. She needn’t have worried. The nearly percussive bark jolts Simmons back to reality but in a way that is so familiar that it makes her smile. She can’t begin to count how many times Agent May has resorted to such measures to get her attention in what she can remember of her past.

She turns with a grin that quickly fades to a frown as that last thought runs through her mind. Quietly, as if saying it softly might make it untrue, she questions, “Have I really lost an entire year?”

If May were less trained, her discomfort with being the one to have to confirm the truth for Simmons would show on her face. As it is, she merely lets out a slightly more audible breath before replying with a simple “yes.” Simmons seems to deflate and curl in on herself after hearing that short word.

“What happened?” she asks after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

That question does bring May up short. Since discovering her apparent amnesia, none of them had even considered how to explain the past year to her or if they should explain it at all. How to tell Simmons about the Kree Obelisk without revealing anything about the Inhumans? About Skye? What about Trip’s death? Or second SHEILD and Bobbi and Mack’s involvement in that fiasco? What about Simmons’ undercover work at Hydra? Fitz’s injuries and their strained relationship?

In the face of such an insurmountable mountain of information and experiences to relate, May quickly decides that discretion is the better part of valor, at least for the moment. The fewer the details, the fewer questions Simmons will have, and the fewer answers May will have to provide.

“You had a bit of a run in with an alien object,” she states simply.

“Just my luck, I suppose,” Jemma responds ruefully, thinking of her experience with the Chitauri virus. “I don’t suppose I jumped out of The Bus again? Coulson will be quite cross with me if I did. He was furious the last time.”

She’s beginning to babble, but she can’t help it. Her mind seems to be full of chasms of missing information and she hasn’t a clue why. Her chatter is the only thing helping her to focus on this moment so she doesn’t give into the hysteria that is steadily creeping up on her again.

May, immediately understanding what is happening, moves closer to the stricken woman and lays her hand gently on her shoulder.

“Elated is probably closer to the truth. We all are. We weren’t sure we’d get you back.” The minute the words leave her mouth, May curses herself for her moment of emotional rashness. Simmons may have lost a year of her life, but she apparently hasn’t lost one bit of her intelligence.

“Back? Back from where?” Simmons questions immediately as this new piece of information registers. The possibilities are endless, but it’s the first glimmer of a tangible fact about what happened to her so she pounces on the chance to start understanding.

Deciding that the less she talks the better, May opts to say only, “It doesn’t matter. You’re here, and that’s all any of us wanted.”

Knowing full well that the younger agent will launch into another bevy of questions if she gives her the chance, May removes her hand as the last syllable falls from her lips, and then admonishes Simmons, though without any heat in her tone: “Get some rest, Simmons. You and I both know you’re not going to get any once I let Skye back in here, so you better take advantage of the quiet while you’ve got it.”

With a quirk of her lips, May turns and exits the room with her customary unpretentious grace, leaving Simmons alone with her thoughts and the sound of heart monitors and her teammates’ relaxed breathing. Reeling from the little bits of information she’s gleaned from May’s sparse words, she returns to staring at the wall, as if the flaking beige paint holds the secrets she must know to unlock her memories.

* * *

She allows her mind to be studiously blank for only a few minutes before giving into the need to take action. She needs a plan and she needs one now, she decides. She’s never been one to sit idly by when there’s a problem in need of solving. Her first step will be trying to get her hands on any bit of research she can about retrograde amnesia, which to her knowledge must be the closest thing to what she’s experiencing, though she’s sure she’ll never find any literature discussing the complications that can arise from exposure to alien artifacts. She’ll just have to work those out for herself. She terrified, of course, but also a little bit thrilled with the idea of a new research project. The process of discovery has always exhilarated her, though she wishes her memories weren’t on the line for this particular project.

She’s about to hop out of bed to start her research when she realizes the folly of her plan. She’s not even sure where they are or what kind of resources she might have at her disposal. SHIELD has just fallen to Hyrda in her mind, and she has no idea what they’ve been doing in the last year. For all she knows, this compound might only have a few sparsely equipped rooms. This medical bay seems shoddy enough, though she thinks she sees evidence of her handiwork in some of the layout. If she had to hazard a guess, she would say that she must have been the one to cobble together this functional though perhaps a little rudimentary bay. It seems to be organized to her preference both in terms of equipment and tool placement. There isn’t a single element that would function better elsewhere.

She takes a few more minutes to bask in the odd sense of pride she has about the room before admitting that there are a few more steps she needs to take before she can plow head first into the research step of her plan. Clearly, the first step should be getting Fitz involved. They’ve been an unstoppable team since they first worked together, and she’s not about to try to go this one alone.

Even though she wants to let him sleep off his obvious exhaustion, her mind is whirling with ideas and tests, and she needs her partner to help her sort through all the mess and find a workable approach. And, if she’s honest, she needs Fitz to help her find a sense of grounding in this strange new world. No matter the differences in his appearance, he is one of the few things that have seemed right and familiar to her without any doubt or hesitation since waking up. Whatever has happened in the last year, she can’t imagine that they haven’t faced it together. It’s what they’ve always done, and she needs that sense of certainty now more than ever before.

Carefully, so as not to jar him from sleep as she had done to herself, she closes the distance between their hands and interlaces their fingers. With the slightest pressure, she starts to run her thumb across the back of him hand. She never imagined that she would be able to do this with him after the incident in the pod. It’s the tremor that runs through her arm at the thought of their almost demise that finally rouses him from his deep slumber.

“Jem?” he calls, voice rough and soft. She hums in response to his question, not wanting to break the quiet by speaking aloud.

Fitz needs a few seconds to force his exhausted mind into a sense of alertness. The last several days have been a maelstrom of emotions, and he’s feeling more than a little battered from the weathering the storm. Still, he feels like he can do anything now that Jemma is back and apparently unharmed, at least physically if not mentally.

The last thing he wants to do is set her off again, but he can’t help asking, “How’re you feeling?”

“To be honest, I don’t know that between the two of us we know enough words to adequately describe how I’m really feeling at the moment,” she answers truthfully. The whole situation defies explanation or expression.

“I do know what I want to do though,” she states emphatically, not wanting to spend any more time trying to articulate her emotional state when she could be working toward a solution to her current problem. Her emotions will sort themselves out.

Fitz, seeing a glimmer in her eyes that he hasn’t witnessed in over a year, knows what she’s going to say before she does, but he humors her anyway: “What’s that?”

“Research!” she states excitedly. “If I’m going to figure out how to get back what I’ve lost, I have quite a lot of reading to do. I think the last time I really studied the brain in relation to memory in detail was when we were working on that project for Dr. Johnston’s class back in second year at the Academy. You know, the one where we had to redesign the helmets for that close combat Operations team after Agent Samuelson took a blow to the head and forgot how to use the gun he’d just helped design? That must have been an awkward conversation to have with his team. Still, I’m not sure how much help that will be since we were really looking in detail at the hippocampus and my issue seems to be with stored memories rather than encoding new ones. I’ve certainly not forgotten anything since I woke up.”

Fitz sits quietly as she chatters at him in a way that is heart achingly familiar. There is no awkwardness. No lingering tension from months of bickering and mounting frustration. This moment is like a thousand others they had before Hydra and the pod nearly tore them apart. It’s as if the universe has decided that they’ve earned a do-over after everything it’s put them through in the last year, and Fitz doesn’t even consider for a moment that he should question it. Who is he, after all, to look a gift horse in the mouth?

“Of course I remember. We argued about the composition of those polymers for a week straight before you finally admitted I was right,” he teases back, relief washing over him as he finally feels comfortable talking to her for the first time in a year. If this is their second chance, he’s going to relish every minute of it.

She flashes him a quick grin, thankful to see that their banter is as it ever was. She remembers more than she lets on about retrograde amnesia, particularly about the common treatments for it or lack thereof, but she’s hoping between the two of them that they’ll be able to figure out how to get back her memories. Regardless of whatever else has happened, she can’t imagine permanently losing an entire year with him. It’s unthinkable.

She also can’t afford to wallow in self-pity. She has a plan, and she’s going to pour all of her energy into it. If she wants to keep sane, she can’t afford not to. If she stops for even a moment to consider the implications of her current situation, she may never be able to recover. So for now, she’ll shove her doubts and worries into a tiny box and press on as if nothing is wrong. It’s a good thing she’s always worked well under pressure, she muses.

“So, what do we have access to now? I assume we’re still dealing with fallout from the whole Hydra incident?” She’ll make do with whatever they have, but she’s hoping that SHIELD hasn’t lost all of its resources. That will make her task much more difficult.

“Not as much as before, but more than you might think. Coulson’s been really attentive to building our resources back up since SHIELD fell. When the medics release you, I’ll bring you down to the lab and let you muck about for a while to see what’s what,” he promises.

He knows that she deflecting her fear for the moment, and he’s not going to call her out for shying away from it. The last thing he wants is to push her over the edge again. He knows she won’t feel easy until she can research her condition to death and try every possible treatment that seems even remotely promising.

As much as he knows it will bother her if she can’t get the memories back, the selfish part of him hopes she never does. The last year had been horrible for her and for him. So many tragic events had occurred, and they’d been at such odds with each other. Now that it looks like they can pick up where they left off before the pod, he doesn’t really want her to remember the memories she’s lost, both for her sake and for his. He’s self-aware enough to admit to himself that he’s afraid if she remembers they will go right back to being uncomfortable around each other, and he doesn’t know that he’ll be able to stand that sense of unease a second time, particularly given how easily they’ve slipped back into their former relationship in the last few minutes.

* * *

They while away the next hour or so by passing memories about their time at the Academy and Sci Ops back and forth. Neither so much as alludes to anything more recent. It’s as if they’ve come to some unconscious agreement that anything that happened since they joined Coulson’s team is off limits.

The longer they speak, the more agitated she seems to become. She’s never short with him, but her shoulders are tense and she’s wringing the thin sheet between her fingers with such force that she might start breaking the fibers before too much longer. She is quite certain that she will go mad if she has to spend another minute in this room despite the joy she feels with him. It feels as if she is racing against some clock to find a suitable treatment, though she has no idea why she has such a sense of panic about it. From what she does remember, she won’t be any worse for the wear for having to wait a few more hours or even days before beginning treatment. Still, she wants her memories back and she wants them back now.

She hasn’t admitted it to anyone and she only just admitted it to herself, but she doesn’t feel comfortable in her own skin. Her body feels just as unfamiliar as her mind. None of the movements or gestures that used to be so central to her being feel natural now. It’s as if her body has forgotten how she’s used to moving. Nothing seems right. What concerns her most is that she doesn’t know if that unfamiliarity is a result of whatever happened to cause her amnesia or if something that had happened over the last year had been so shocking that she’d abandoned her old habits. If she could just remember something, anything, she might have some kind of explanation for why she feels like an imposter in her own body. Just as she’s contemplating the best way to break out of the pseudo-prison the medical bay has become, her elusive medic returns to give her one final check before setting her free.

* * *

At first, she’s giddy at the prospect of exploring the base she doesn’t remember, but her excitement quickly dims as she confronts the uncomfortable sensation of déjà vu time and time again. Her body seems to know things that her mind doesn’t, like where to turn or when to step, and she finds the whole experience highly disorienting and frustrating.

Around every corner tiny wisps of memories assault her, but they’re too ephemeral and disjointed to do more than give her a pounding headache as she attempts to chase them through her sieve of a mind. The closest comparison she can manage is that it seems as though she’s walking along in her mind, progressing steadily without pause, when she seems to miss a step and start to fall. Worst of all, there is no sense predictability as to when the world will collapse out from under her, so she’s left with an increasing sense of dread and fear of what might or might not be there as she tries to sift through her memory to find the holes before they find her.

She manages to establish some sense of equilibrium again when Fitz steers her toward a free computer when they reach the lab. Research is research. Even if nothing else is the same, even if everything else feels wrong, she can do this, so she pours her heart and soul into researching her condition and treatments, sure that she’ll be able to find something, especially with Fitz’s help.

After hours of increasingly frantic searching and throwing out half mad ideas, she’s left with very little that seems possible and even less that seems promising. Standard protocol for amnesiacs is to perform an MRI to assess any damage to the brain and EEG to determine any potentially problematic electrical activity. As soon as she suggests that they immediately run such tests on her, Fitz pulls up her most recent medical records on his tablet. The medics had run every test imaginable on her and used all the equipment at their disposal to assess her and found nothing out of the ordinary.

Running the tests again would be pointless. They won’t show her anything not already included in her medical file. Without any kind of damage to try to correct, she really only has one other option, but the literature seems to contradict itself on the efficacy and safety of the treatment.

Half the researchers seem to believe that memory jogging is the best way to prompt an amnesiac’s memory to return. Their studies show promising recoveries for many of the patients, some of whom even indicated that they regained their full memories within days after being exposed to others’ memories and significant items from their past.

The problem is that the other half of the research states most emphatically that such purposeful reintroduction of memories by people who shared the experiences can cause severe problems for the person with amnesia. Most studies showed patients suffered from a sense of dissociation as their well-meaning friends, family, and coworkers introduced the events from their perspective with varying degrees of accuracy. The various perspectives served only to confuse the patients, who had no means of coping with the contradictions and gaps in the shared memories. The more people attempted to share, the more confused and withdrawn the patients became. Most patients reported losing their sense of self and retreating from their relationships as the memories continued to feel hollow and impersonal.

The lack of any kind of consensus leaves Jemma with little sense of direction. If she consents to memory jogging, will she regain her memories or will she feel even more confused and ill at ease than she does now? Will she pull away from her co-workers and friends as she tries and fails to make their memories her own? Or will she rekindle those relationships as she remembers their shared experiences?

Fitz watches her struggle to choose. He won’t tell her what to do. They are her memories on the line, but he’s just as afraid of what might happen if they try to force her brain into remembering as she is. He doesn’t know that he can survive her pulling away again, and he still isn’t sure that her regaining her memories is for the best anyway. So he sits silently as she muses over her very limited options.

Just as she’s beginning to lose hope, an idea comes to her suddenly. She feels ridiculous for not thinking of it before. It will solve all her problems, maybe as soon as tonight depending on how quickly they can get everything set up. With the prospect of regaining her lost memories in the very near future, she turns quickly to Fitz.

“And to think people call us geniuses! Fitz, we can just use the Theta Brain-Wave Frequency Machine. It worked for Coulson and I am sure what he went through was significantly more traumatic that whatever I’ve experienced. If we can recalibrate it quickly enough, I’ll be back to normal by tomorrow!”

She expects to see him share her exuberant grin, but all he does is pale at her suggestion. In the first place, he’s not entirely sure that he would call her experiences less traumatic. Yes, Coulson died and SHEILD brought him back to life using completely unethical procedures, but Jemma’s life over the last year had been anything but positive and cheerful. He can’t imagine making her relive a year’s worth of memories, especially given the content of some of those memories. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, they can’t use the machine even if they want to. Coulson had destroyed it as soon as he’d used it on Cal, believing that the machine was more trouble than it was worth.

“It’s gone, Jemma. Coulson had it destroyed.”

Only momentarily deterred by his news, she responds with thinly concealed desperation: “Then we’ll build a new one! We studied it long enough and I took such detailed notes that we ought to be able to replicate it.”

“I know you want your memories back, but I don’t know that we have the resources, and we’ll have to get Coulson’s approval. Since he was the one to destroy the original, I don’t want you to get your hopes up about his answer. He’s likely to say no,” Fitz warns.

He doesn’t want to take away the one moment of hope she’s had in hours, but he also doesn’t want to set her up for disappointment either. That being said, if Coulson approves, he’ll do whatever he can regardless of how he feels about her regaining her memories. If she wants to rebuild that accursed machine, he’ll help her do it, though he’ll hate every minute of it.

* * *

When they arrive at Coulson’s office, it’s clear that he’s been expecting them for some time. Ever since realizing that Simmons had lost her memories, Coulson has been considering the Theta machine and if it will be worth trying to recreate it, if they even can. He isn’t sure how much Simmons might remember, but he doubts it’s enough to rebuild the machine successfully. He’s already looked, and any notes she might have made were lost when Mack blew out one of the servers during the second SHIELD takeover. Even his toolbox doesn’t contain any information on the machine, which leads him to believe that destroying it was the best thing he could have done.

He listens to her impassioned pleas without betraying a hint of his own emotions before responding in a studiously calm voice. He, perhaps better than anyone, knows what it is like to feel that whole pieces of your life are missing. But, in the end he is also the director of SHIELD and if the last year has taught him anything it’s that he needs to be prepared for whatever might come their way, which means he needs Simmons back in the fold as soon as possible, with or without her memories.

“I’m not saying no, Agent Simmons, but I want you to understand that we only have so many resources, yourself included. I don’t say this to be insensitive because I understand what it feels like to have huge gaps in your memories, but we have much bigger problems in need of our attention than those gaps,” Coulson reasons.

“I really need you to help us deal with those issues, but I will set aside what we can spare for you and try to find whatever else you might need to create something that will help you regain your memories. I’ll warn you though, we’ve lost any of your previous research on the machine, and I’d really rather not have to see you go through what I did. The procedure and aftermath are no picnic. You need to ask yourself if regaining those memories is really what will be best for you in the long run.”

Like Fitz, Coulson sees the potential catastrophe in the making if Simmons regains her memories through theta wave therapy, and he also wonders if she might not be better off without them. He still has days when he wishes he were blessedly unaware of what Tahiti should actually mean to him, and he knows there are at least a few things she might wish she could forget if she does regain the memories. Still, Agent Simmons deserves to have the choice, and he will spare whatever he can manage if she decides to take this path. He owes her nothing less.

She understands his position. Really, she does, but she can’t help but be a little disappointed that restoring her memories isn’t a top priority. Still, she’s nothing if not a team player, and she recognizes that she has no idea what kinds of issues SHIELD is facing now. Squaring her shoulders, she looks directly at him before responding.

“Thank you, sir. If you’ll let me know what needs doing, I’ll figure out where I can help best. I would like to ask one more thing, though.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, the guilt creeping up on him as he watches this young woman, who has been through hell and back, place her own concerns aside for the good of the team. He simply meets her unwavering gaze to indicate that she should continue.

“Would you let everyone know not to try to fill in the gaps for me, please? Fitz and I have been doing some research, and given what we’ve found I don’t want to undermine the effects of theta wave therapy if I can recreate the machine. I’m not sure how my brain will react if it has to try to work around whatever people decide to share with me. For the time being, it will be better to tell me only as much as is absolutely necessary to get the job done.”

“If that’s what you think is best,” Coulson reluctantly agrees. He’s not familiar with the research, so he’ll defer to her expert opinion, but he finds the request to be rather odd.

Fitz is also a little shocked at her request. For someone so desperate to regain her memories, she seems to be erring more on the side of caution than either he or Coulson expected. For her part, Jemma isn’t willing to take any risks. The research is too inconclusive, so until she knows that the Theta machine isn’t an option she wants to keep her system as much in a state of equilibrium as possible. She’ll learn to deal with the gaps in her memory for now if it means that she can recover fully once she’s built the machine. She’s always believed that the big picture is more important than the immediate future, and she’s not about to change that perspective now.

For all her apparent calm, she’s struggling not to panic. Her tentative hold on keeping herself together and focused instead of raving and panic-stricken is starting to crumble rapidly, and she needs a very quick change of venue and task if she’s going to get through it. She had hoped that she would be elbow deep in promising research or tests at this point. Now, the only things she has are her foggy memories of the machine and a tentative hope that between Fitz and herself she can recreate it. What already seemed like an overwhelming task is beginning to seem impossible, even with the resources Coulson has promised her.

Sensing her growing distress, Fitz offers a suggestion: “Why don’t we head back to yours and start working on some basic schematics? We need to know what you need before we can ask for it.”

She agrees readily, thankful for a sense of direction to pull her out of imminent panic. Unfortunately, her mood only darkens as she follows him back to her bedroom. They pass dozens of agents who all greet her with warm smiles and clear excitement for her return. At first, she finds their enthusiasm endearing, but after a fifth agent calls her by name and asks how she is, she begins to lose any sense of enjoyment. She has no idea who any of them are or what they do. How many people has she forgotten, she wonders. All these agents and the woman and man from the medical bay plus countless others she hasn’t stumbled upon yet. She’ll learn their names soon enough, but how long will it be before she remembers them? How long will she have to work in a space where she feels like an outsider when she should feel like she belongs?

* * *

When they enter her room, Fitz isn’t sure what to do. Should they sit on her bed like they used to do in their Academy days? Should he take the chair at her desk? He’s saved from having to make a decision immediately since Jemma decides to wander about the space for a moment.

That it belongs to her is immediately clear. Her quilt is draped over the foot of the bed, her knickknacks adorn the shelves of the bookcase filled with some of her books, and her photos line the walls. Unexpectedly, the photos make her uneasy. She remembers them all. Every moment frozen in time is one that is still part of her memory, which means one of two things: someone has already come in her room to remove any newer photos given her request of Coulson or she hadn’t added any new pictures for at least a year. Given how recently she had made her request, the first doesn’t seem likely, which only leaves the second, and she isn’t sure what to make of that.

No new pictures? How could that even be possible? She and Fitz were forever taking silly pictures in the lab and on their missions. They’d been doing it since nearly the moment they’d become friends. Why wouldn’t she have any from the last year? She wants to ask Fitz why, but she won’t undermine her own request only minutes after making it. She needs to accept her lack of understanding and just focus on what she can do to get her memories back. That, of course, is easier said than done.

Instead of beginning to work on the schematics immediately, what she needs most in the moment is a little physical comfort. Given what Fitz had said at the bottom of the ocean and how he’d responded to her kiss before her amnesia became apparent, she feels certain that he’ll welcome her advances. Without preamble she shuffles back over to where she’s left him standing in the doorway and pulls him close as she buries her head into the gap between his shoulder and neck.

As his familiar scent washes over her, she lets out a small sigh. Some of the tension that has plagued her since she awoke finally releases. As frustrated as she is with her brain, she can’t help but be grateful Fitz is with her and well. The last thing she truly remembers from before waking is an all consuming feeling of despair that nothing would ever be right in her world again if he weren’t part of it. She’d been so sure that he wouldn’t survive that she feels compelled to give into the least bit of temptation to act on her feelings. She hadn’t had a chance at the bottom of the ocean to do more than kiss him frantically and wish for more time with him. Now that she has it, she isn’t going to waste a single second. She rearranges herself slightly to tilt her face up to kiss him, and she loses herself quickly in the heady feeling. She’d tried not to imagine what it would be like for many years since he’d never given her any indication that he felt the same way. Of course, she failed more often than not, but even her wildest imaginations hadn’t done this feeling justice.

She’s so caught up in the pleasant feelings that she doesn’t immediately realize that his kisses are tentative and unsure, as if he’s surprised by her actions and isn’t quite sure how to respond. She could understand his surprise yesterday. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting to see her awake, but now his reaction makes no sense unless they’ve never actually been in a relationship. But that can’t be right, she thinks.

Surely, since they both clearly survived the pod incident and they evidently had similar feelings for each other, they’d acted on it at some point in the last year, right? She can’t imagine what kind of scenario would have led to them ignoring those feelings or losing them altogether in the past year. In what world wouldn’t she love Fitz? It what world wouldn’t he love her? Their love for each other seems like such a foregone conclusion to her now that she wonders how they managed to go years without admitting it.

When she pulls back after a few moments of snogging, she feels like the worries she had hoped were unfounded are confirmed. Throughout the entire experience, he doesn’t seem to know where to put his hands, and more than once they knock teeth or noses. She could chalk up the fumbling to her technique maybe not being what he’s used to since she doesn’t remember what it’s like to kiss him, but it seems like he’s never placed his hands on her body with romantic rather than platonic intent. More than that, Fitz looks entirely too pleased and astonished by her sudden affection for kissing to have been a normal occurrence between them in the year she can’t remember.

The thought that she’s forgotten something so immensely important that it kept them from acting on their feelings for a year pains her. What could have happened to keep them apart? She wants to demand answers immediately, but she fears that will cause her more harm than anything else. Clearly, whatever had happened had been dire enough to force them to bury their feelings again. At first, she wonders if maybe Coulson has a point. If she and Fitz hadn’t gotten together despite his confession and her shared feelings, maybe she is better off not knowing whatever was the catalyst for their apparent undoing.

She banishes those thoughts almost immediately. She won’t feel completely easy with herself until she at least tries to get her memories back. Regardless of what happened, those experiences have shaped everyone else into who they are now, and they would have shaped her too. She’ll never feel like she is who she is supposed to be without them, and she knows any relationship she develops with Fitz will be missing a critical piece of its foundation without her memories. He’ll have an entire year with her that she can’t remember, and eventually that will cause tension or problems. She won’t endanger their relationship just as it’s started. With this additional incentive, she’s more determined than ever to do whatever she can to reclaim her memories, but she fears that even their best efforts might not be enough this time.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intended for this chapter to keep going, but it's already nearly as long as the first three put together, so I am going to end it here. 
> 
> The main purpose of this chapter was to explore how Jemma initially tries to deal with her situation. I think the single-minded determination we see from her in Season 2 is one of her central personality traits, so I wanted to include it in this chapter. Once she has a plan, she sticks to it with everything she has until she feels certain that there is a better option. I also think her tendency to shove her own feelings and needs aside for others is what makes her who she is. Unfortunately, the combination of those traits was what caused the rift between her and Fitz in the first place, and it's going to cause her some trouble in this fic as well, but Jemma wouldn't be Jemma if she weren't loyal and a bit self-sacrificing. 
> 
> In the next few chapters, we'll see what happens as she tries to develop a relationship with Fitz while bits and pieces of her memories start to come back. Fair warning, it won't be pretty. Fitz and Coulson are right to fear what might happen when her memories return. Season 2 wasn't particularly kind to Simmons, and becoming aware of everything that has transpired in out-of-sequence bits and pieces will be at times even more disturbing than living through them sequentially. 
> 
> But that's not to say it will all be dark and angsty. I also have several moments of reconciliation planned for Simmons and several of the other characters, so there will be some happy bits as well. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me. I'll try not to take so long to get the next chapter out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Jemma’s memories begin to resurface, she unknowingly rekindles old relationships and strengthens new bonds, but will it be enough to help her cope with her traumas once again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. I’ve been trying to get this chapter written literally for months now but I kept struggling to get the words on the page. 
> 
> Maybe it’s too late to finish this story now that we are well into season three, but I can’t let it go. With all the Jemma/Will nonsense that we’re getting now, I would rather imagine a scenario where the monolith brings Fitz and Simmons together and forces them to deal with their issues instead of giving them a whole host of new ones on top of everything they still haven’t discussed. 
> 
> Truthfully, I’m still waiting for season three to reveal that Will was a figment of Jemma’s imagination. There are just too many things that don’t add up from the first five episodes, and some odd bits in the fifth episode that I still can’t reconcile. 
> 
> Anyway, I have three more chapters planned though I may try to condense that into two. I hope you’ll join me on the journey to see how this might have all played out if I had my say. Thanks so much for being patient. Hopefully, I won’t take nearly as long to get the next chapters out to you.

* * *

True to his promise, Coulson does his best to secure the technological odds and ends and other materials Jemma requests. He even grants her two days to work uninterrupted before drawing her back into the team. He wishes he could give her more considering what she has endured for all of them, but the threat of the unknown looms, and he needs her help to ensure they are prepared when it arrives.

For those two days, Jemma pushes herself harder than she ever has before. She barely stops working long enough to eat, and she refuses to rest for more than a handful of half-hour catnaps, convinced that she can solve the puzzle of the Theta machine if she just concentrates long and hard enough. Fitz realizes early in the process that recreating the machine will take them years of research, but he gives her every bit of his focus and considerable mental power, and he will continue to do so until she decides this route is no longer worth pursuing. That being said, every few hours he does attempt to talk her out of her manic pace, but she completely ignores his pleas and warnings. He watches in frustration and mild panic as her efforts drain what little reserves she has. By the end of the second day, she looks like little more than a ghost, skin so pale it almost seems translucent and eyes filled with a mania that frightens him at times.

Still, she presses on, even when she reaches a point of utter exhaustion and its clear that their research is at a standstill. She wants more than anything for science to be what cures her. She wants a machine that she knows for a fact can recover memories in their entirety, not a very likely scientifically unsound free-for-all of memory sharing with her colleagues. She wants facts and figures, hypotheses and variables that she can change and manipulate. Most of all she wants control. Control over the method of regaining her memories. Control over her life. Control over herself. Since waking, she feels more and more like a top spinning out of control, and she feels powerless to stop, so she ignores her better judgment and Fitz’s increasingly impassioned appeals. She can’t afford to give up hope yet. They are geniuses after all; if anyone can figure this out, it’s the two of them. They’ve never faced a challenge they couldn’t overcome together, and she’s not about to let this break their perfect streak.

* * *

In the sanctity of his mind, Fitz is relieved that this attempt was apparently doomed from the start. Even through the distress of her memory loss and attempt to reconstruct the machine, there is a lightness to her that has been missing for over a year. In spite of the shadow of what she’s experienced since waking and even as she works tirelessly to reclaim her memories, at least a few times each day she smiles and laughs and teases as she had before their world had changed forever. Her eyes, though weary, aren’t haunted with the shadows of her experiences. Her lips don’t quirk into that raw, tight grimace that had so quickly overtaken her once blinding smile. Her words don’t sound forced and disingenuous even though they are a little panicked and anxious.

Only now that he can see the contrast does he realize what the last year had done to her and how much of that tension and unease he had caused. If he’d responded to her efforts sooner, could he have prevented or at least lessened some of what she had suffered? If he had listened, would she ever have become a shell of her former self in the first place?

He tries not to dwell on his guilt, but he feels it all the same. He feels it every time he is thankful that she doesn’t remember the past year. He feels it every time she says his name with that inflection of exasperation mixed with fondness only she can manage. He feels it every time she crosses off another idea on their ever-dwindling list. He feels it every time she leans into him, taking comfort in his presence as their latest glimmer of hope fades like the final ember in a fire.

Out of the whole experience, what surprises him most of all is that she is affectionate in ways he never would have expected, and, while he knows it’s selfish, he’s pleased to be her pillar of strength. It’s like she can’t go more than few minutes without looking at him or resting her hand on his forearm, shoulder, or thigh. Every time she needs to read something, she curls up next to him, as if she can’t concentrate without his company. He no longer feels inadequate in her presence, and it’s a heady feeling given how often he’d felt useless and broken in the past year.

In a way he’s right about why she seems more drawn to him than ever before. As the hope of regaining her memories via the Theta machine continues to fade away, she feels more and more adrift. He is the only thing that is truly familiar to her in this strange new world. Of course, she wants to be near him because she loves him, not just because he’s familiar. In fact, most of her newfound fondness for his presence is a direct result of their shared feelings for each other, but she is self aware enough to know that she is also using him as a crutch. Even knowing it, she can’t stop. In the moments when she wants to give up, she looks at him and knows with certainty that her memories of them over the last year are too precious to lose.

Unfortunately, given her self-imposed moratorium on any attempt to jog her memory, it is just as holey as it was the day she regained consciousness. What she hasn’t told anyone, least of all Fitz, is that she has been getting flashes of what she assumes must be memories. None of them have been long enough to understand, and she might write them off if not for the almost unbearable emotions that seem to accompany each. She would be less hesitant to share if some of the feelings were positive. As it is, every flicker of a memory brings forth feelings of despair, anger, grief, and suffering.

She has no idea what to do when confronted with such a dismal cocktail of emotions. Surely the last year of her life hadn’t been so traumatic that nothing positive had happened. Surely even if she and Fitz hadn’t begun a romantic relationship, which given his continued amazement at her touch seems to be very likely, they had still been friends, still shared their always easy camaraderie. Surely he had helped her to make sense of whatever events had caused such an unpleasant frenzy of emotions. She can’t imagine having to weather them by herself.

She hopes that he can’t see how uneasy she is becoming in her own skin. The feeling of being an imposter has continued to grow each day. Her body still feels unfamiliar to her, and she can’t seem to find any sense of stability unless she is safely ensconced in his arms. Only then does she feel like her disjointed pieces might meld back together into something whole.

* * *

They are both relieved when Coulson finally pulls her back into the fold: he because she can no longer spend every waking moment obsessing over a machine they can’t recreate and she because, given her own lack of progress, Coulson’s orders will allow her to set her mind on tasks where she knows there will be a positive outcome. She realizes almost immediately that Coulson was not overstating his need for her. More than a dozen projects, many of which she had apparently started, sit unfinished in the lab. What she doesn’t know is that Coulson and Fitz have scoured her records and removed twice as many more in deference to her request to be told only as much as necessary to help. Neither man can imagine trying to talk their way around the Inhumans or the monolith, so they remove her access to those projects.

Beyond her assistance in the lab, she has some surprising responsibilities, well, surprising to her anyway. The woman who introduces herself as Bobbi, though Jemma feels more comfortable addressing her as Agent Morse, desperately needs to undergo the final surgery to attend to her lingering injuries.

Admittedly, Jemma is rather exasperated when Coulson tasks her with overseeing Agent Morse’s care. She wants to remind him yet again that she’s not that kind of doctor, but it’s become increasingly clear to her that SHIELD has significant holes in its ranks. She’s not formally trained, but she is one of the best options they apparently have, so she’ll put aside her own worries for the time being and focus her attention on preparing to lead the operation and the remainder of Agent Morse’s recovery.

Nevertheless, she would feel more at ease with this latest assignment if she at least had the assistance of someone with actual medical training, a point she brings up as she and Skye sit in Skye’s room, spooning ice cream out of a large tub.

Though she’s obviously grown in ways Jemma doesn’t remember, Skye is like a breath of fresh air. In all the ways that matter, she is still the same fun-loving, prank-pulling, overly honest woman Jemma remembers, though there is a sense of angst to her Jemma doesn’t recall. Like Fitz, being with Skye makes her feel like she hasn’t lost touch with everything, and Jemma has come back to herself enough to know that she needs breaks even if all she wants to do is to keep working on a solution to her problem. She is no use to herself or anyone else if she collapses from stress and exhaustion.

Skye relishes the opportunity to reconnect with her friend; she’s spent months walking on eggshells around Simmons, but she no longer has to now that her teammate is blissfully unaware of her powers. She finds herself wishing on more than one occasion that Jemma would remain in that state of ignorance. She can still hear her terror and self-blame in those days after the events of San Juan: “I should have be trying to terminate it, erase it from existence…The Avengers wouldn’t have been necessary if we hadn’t unleashed alien horrors! Trip was in fragments.” Thankfully, Simmons’s current ranting breaks Skye out of the painful memories before she can delve much further.

“I’m flattered that Agent Coulson thinks I am capable of performing such a complicated series of procedures, but surely there is someone more qualified!” Jemma raves, waving her spoon about as if to punctuate her point.

Forcing herself back into this moment with a Simmons who isn’t afraid of her and what she can do, Skye responds teasingly: “Excuse me, Ms. Double Ph.D. in fields no one can pronounce, but I think you are way more qualified than anyone else we’ve got hanging around the base. I’m sure Bobbi’s relieved that you’ll be the one to put her knee back together.”

“Honestly, Skye. You’re telling me that in a year Coulson hasn’t managed to find someone with actual medical credentials? And really, that’s beside the point. We already have someone with medical credentials, so why isn’t he leading this surgery?”

“Who? I’m telling you, we don’t have anyone with more training than you. And, hey, you saved my life, so I think you’re pretty qualified,” Skye smirks.

“Agent Triplett, of course!” Jemma beams, confident that she’s presented the perfect solution to at least one of her problems. Trip can lead the surgery and she’ll assist. She wants to see Agent Morse free from her hospital bed as soon as possible, but knee surgery isn’t anything to meddle with, especially with her faulty memory.

Her smile fades to a frown as she watches Skye’s face pale in response to her statements. She only grows truly concerned when the younger agent’s eyes begin to fill with tears. In her head, all Skye can here for a moment is a repeat of Simmons’s tearful and grief-stricken cry: “Trip was in fragments!”

Lost in her memories and her feelings of responsibility for what happened to Trip, Skye doesn’t hear Simmons calling her frantically at first: “What? Skye! What’s the matter?”

“Jemma,” she begins, her voice wobbling dangerously as she fights to hold back the tears. She needn’t have made the effort. Perceptive as she is, Jemma understands immediately what must have happened based on that one mournful word, and her eyes immediately fill as well.

As the first tear slips out and trails down her cheek, she manages to breathe out one word: “When?” Too overwhelmed with grief, she spares no concern with what her quest for information will do to her possibly recovery. Knowing what happened to her teammate is far more important to her in this moment than anything else, consequences be damned.

Purposefully vague, Skye only whispers “About six months ago” through bloodless lips. Why does she, of all people, have to be the one to tell Simmons about Trip?

Jemma sucks in a ragged breath as grief overwhelms her. Contrary to what many people on her team might have thought, she never had any romantic designs on Antoine Triplett. He had simply cemented himself in her life as a kind of lovable older brother she hadn’t known she needed. He was certainly a gorgeous man. Jemma would have to be blind not to notice. But more importantly, he had protected her during one of her most vulnerable moments, and he had been unfailingly kind to her at all times. He was one of the few bright spots in her memories of the Hydra takeover and the aftermath. To know now that his smiles and jokes had been forever lost cuts her deeply.

It takes her a moment before she can quiet her heartfelt sobs long enough to ask another question: “How?” Her grief continues to overshadow any consideration of the repercussions asking that question might bring. Now that she knows he is dead, she isn’t willing to wait to see if her faulty memory will return to fill in the rest of the story.

* * *

In her mind, Skye can hear the warning Coulson had given them all the day after Jemma left the makeshift medical bay: “Tell Simmons only what she needs to know to complete her work. She doesn’t want anything to interfere with her plan to regain her memories.” Skye’s parents, her powers, Trip’s death, the Inhumans, and Simmons’s undercover work, all of it was supposed to be off limits.

Staring into the face of her devastated friend, Skye’s feeling of culpability for Trip’s death crushes her. Despite her better judgment, Coulson’s warnings, and Jemma’s request, Skye begins brokenly relating at least part of the story, purposefully leaving out the details of her powers. She can handle Simmons’s blame when she finishes the sad tale, but she can’t endure her fear again.

“We were on a mission. Hydra was involved, and we were in an old, underground city. We were trying to stop them by leveling the place, but Reina was there, and I was stupid enough to follow her. Trip ran after me to save me, but he died and I lived. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gone after Reina. He shouldn’t have been there. It’s my fault. I killed him.”

Even facing her own overwhelming grief, Jemma shifts over to comfort Skye. She’s trembling under the force of her anguish, so Jemma gathers her closer to try to soothe her. She doesn’t for a minute believe that Skye is responsible for Trip’s death. She might have been present, but she knows with absolute certainty that Skye couldn’t have killed him.

Skye doesn’t share her convictions. All she can see is Trip’s body crumbling into pieces as she shatters her chrysalis with her first burst of power. As if they are sentient and can tell that she is remembering her moment of rebirth, her powers break free from her steadily declining control. Suddenly, she isn’t the only thing shaking in the room. The hula dancer, one of the few mementos she has of her life before SHIELD, rattles off her bookshelf as other personal items begin to vibrate with increasing intensity.

Thankful for her well-honed emergency survival skills, Jemma immediately reacts to what she perceives as an earthquake even as she struggles with her grief. She tries to pull Skye with her toward the doorframe, which must be the sturdiest part of the tiny room, but Skye immediately retreats to the corner opposite of the door. She tries desperately to force the vibrations to cease, but she feels as powerless to control her gift as she had during those initial days after the diviner revealed them to her.

Confused by her teammate’s actions, Jemma crouches in front of Skye and attempts to pull her toward the safety of the door. Only when she reaches out to touch Skye, who flinches back violently, does she realize that Skye isn’t afraid of the tremors; Skye is afraid of her, afraid of what Jemma will think of her being gifted, which must be true given what is happening.

* * *

Eyes wide due to her deductions, Jemma settles into a cross-legged position in front of Skye. She wants Skye to understand that there isn’t anything to be afraid of. Try as she might, she can’t keep the wonder out of either her tone or expression. 

“It’s you? It’s _you_! When did that happen? Wait, no, don’t tell me. I shouldn’t have let you tell me this much. Oh, but I have so many questions. You’re okay, right? It doesn’t hurt you? Because if it does, we have to figure out how to mitigate that effect. You’ll let me run some tests, won’t you? It’s just so fascinating. You can create seismic activity! How could I forget something this monumental? Oh, this is exciting!”

Skye watches in fascination, the image of Jemma blurring from the tears still gathering in her eyes. She’d expected immediate rejection and fear. She’d expected barely concealed disgust at what she had become. She’d expected something similar to Jemma’s reaction all those months ago when she had just returned from gathering the shattered remains of their teammate.

The reality she experiences this time is not at all what she’d expected. Jemma is concerned for her first and foremost, but she’s also giddy at the thought of Skye’s new powers. She isn’t afraid, she isn’t disgusted, and she hasn’t immediately rejected her and what she has become. She’s looking at her in awe and amazement, as if Skye is the most wonderful thing she doesn’t yet understand. Most importantly, she’s looking at her as if she is still her friend above all else.

Jemma’s first reaction to Skye’s powers had been so much the product of what she’d been though, with Hydra, with Fitz, with their experience in the City, and with Reina and Cal. In hindsight, Skye can now see that Jemma‘s initial response to her gift was a much more muted version of the one she just received. Even then, more than anything, Jemma had been concerned for Skye, and she wanted to do whatever she could to protect her, but her fear and anger over what had happened to Trip and everything else that had happened up to that point had left a dark stain on that concern and twisted the possibilities Jemma could see and was willing to consider. Skye had carried the pain and lingering tension of that shadow with her, and her relationship with Jemma had never been the same. Fear and mistrust had driven them apart.

In the face of her friend’s now obvious delight, Skye feels the piece of her that had felt broken since Simmons’s harsh words after the events in the City finally start to mend. As much as she tried to tell herself that Jemma was reacting to the situation and not to her, that she would never want to hurt her and would never believe her to be dangerous, Skye couldn’t believe it until this moment when her friend could have an honest reaction uncolored by the events of the past year.

* * *

Unwilling to allow her friend to continue cowering in a corner, Jemma reaches forward and gathers Skye back into a tight hug. Skye had always responded well to physical reassurance and affection, and Jemma can’t image that such a fundamental part of her has changed over the last year.

As she runs a soothing hand up and down Skye’s back, the vibrations radiating from her friend’s form seem to shake some of Jemma’s memories loose. They are nothing more than flashes, but she remembers the gut-wrenching feeling as she nearly plummeted to her death down a hole after being thrown through the air. She remembers holding a gun with unwavering hands and shooting at someone while dressed in a hazmat suit. Neither memory makes any sense. They are too short and out of context, but the fear and rage connected to them are almost unbearably clear.

Jemma is thankful that Skye is still too overwhelmed to notice the tension that has now taken hold in her muscles. She should feel relieved in this moment. Her memories are returning, even if only in bits and spurts, but relief is the last thing she feels. Confusion, disbelief, and fear are warring for first place, and Jemma finally begins to wonder if perhaps regaining her memories isn’t the best case scenario for her after all.

* * *

After ensuring that Skye is calm and in control of her powers, Jemma retreats her to her room, needing the peace and quiet of the space to sort through her thoughts. Hugging a pillow close to her chest, she considers the snippets of memories she has remembered. She wants to hash them out with Fitz to help quell her anxiety. Her moment with Skye is proof that her memories will return to her if she can be patient long enough.

Pure, controllable science can’t help her recover her memories since the Theta machine is clearly out of her grasp, so she has to develop a new plan. If she can wait a little while longer, she might regain enough of her memories that she won’t feel too anxious about her teammates filling in the minor details or events she can’t remember. If she can remember enough of her core memories from the last year, perhaps she won’t suffer from the dissociation so prevalent among the subjects who consented to memory jogging. It’s a shaky plan at best, but it’s the only one she can convince herself to commit to, at least for the foreseeable future. If she doesn’t continue to regain memories, she’ll consider something else.

In the end, she decides not to tell Fitz anything. She doesn’t want him to worry, and what little she has remembered probably won’t make much sense outside of her head anyway. She doesn’t mean to be secretive, but she also doesn’t want to do anything to hurt the fragile but beautiful development in their relationship. They are already having to overcome so many hurdles as it is.

Every time she looks at Fitz, she can’t help but feel a little bit anxious that she is going to wake up and everything will have been a dream. That he’ll be gone and she’ll be alone. Logically, she knows a year has passed and he’s safe, but emotionally she is still trying to deal with the trauma of the med pod, which for her seems like it was less than a week ago. If she is interpreting the looks she sees Fitz giving her correctly, he has similar fears based off whatever she went through to end up in her current amnestic state. She doesn’t want to drag him down with her worries and fears, so she keeps them hidden and forces herself to appreciate every moment she has with him right now, the past and future be damned.

* * *

Over the next several days, she splits her time between cuddling close to Fitz during breaks and after hours and reading everything she can about the procedures she is meant to perform on Agent Morse. What memories do return are equally fleeting as the initial ones, but they are thankfully less traumatic emotionally. One however, makes her smile whenever she thinks about it. She has no idea why she was tasked with sorting through old SSR files, but she is thankful beyond belief to remember passing a file to May that Agent Peggy Carter had not only held but also signed. After struggling to come to terms with so many dark emotions, the effervescent joy she remembers when that memory surfaces gives her back a sense of hope that everything will turn out alright in the end. 

With a bit of bounce back in her step, she focuses her attention on Agent Morse. Her hands never falter and her stiches are as even and precise as they’ve ever been, but Jemma would be lying if she didn’t admit feeling an overwhelming sense of relief when the operation ended. She’s done what she can as a pseudo medical professional. The rest of Agent Morse’s recovery will depend entirely on how well she follows the physical therapy routine Jemma is designing. Of course, she still has several days of bed rest ahead of her before they can contemplate even the most basic PT.

She still doesn’t remember anything about Agent Morse, and Jemma can tell that it’s wearing on the blonde agent. She tries to initiate conversations, and Jemma does her best to contribute, but she always feels more than a bit wary of the other woman even though she’s bed ridden, and that anxiety makes her responses short and uncertain.

Based on how everyone, including Fitz, interacts with Agent Morse, Jemma wants to believe that her anxiety is completely unfounded, but she can’t seem to overcome her feelings of unease and wariness. On the third day after Agent Morse’s surgery, she learns why.

* * *

Having just popped by the lab to let Fitz know her plans for the morning, Jemma scurries to the medical bay to check on Agent Morse. There had been some slight inflammation around her stitches the previous evening, and Jemma wants to make sure that infection doesn’t have even the slightest chance to set in.

“Hello, Agent Morse,” she calls cheerfully, “How are you doing today?”

Bobbi is thankful to see a smile on Jemma’s face, but she wishes she could convince her young teammate to call her by her first name. She understands that Jemma doesn’t want to be rushed into remembering anything, but being called Agent Morse dredges up some memories that Bobbi would rather not think about at the moment. Her recovery is going slowly enough as it is. She doesn’t need any more negative thoughts to crowd her already overtaxed and stressed mind when she can’t resort to physical exertion or twirling her staves to work through them.

“I feel like a drugged up mummy,” Bobbi answers truthfully. She’s been swimming in a potent cocktail of painkillers, anti-inflammatories, and antibiotics for days, and far too much of her body is covered in gauze and bandages. She’s completely helpless, and she hates it.

“Oh, well,” Jemma pauses awkwardly, “We haven’t gotten to the point of placing your internal organs in canopic jars yet, so maybe not too much like a mummy, I hope?”

Her attempt at humor is mediocre at best, but Bobbi can’t help the small twitch of a smile that graces her face. She’d almost forgotten how endearingly awkward Jemma could be. It’s been so long since her teammate had attempted a joke that even this poor effort seems promising.

Bobbi quickly loses what little humor she can find in the situation as Jemma continues to poke and prod her, calling her Agent Morse all the while. She knows that she shouldn’t take her frustrations out on her, but she can’t help snap a little when Jemma finally finishes examining her knee, which looks just as grotesque as the day Hunter and May rescued her, or maybe more so given the incisions and stitches.

“Good news, Agent Morse,” Jemma chirps a little nervously. She can tell that the agent is frustrated, though she isn’t sure if it has more to do with her faulty memory or the other woman’s injuries. “If your injuries continue healing at their current rate, I think we’ll be able to start your PT by the end of next week.”

“You don’t say, Dr. Simmons,” Bobbi retorts dryly, stressing Jemma’s formal title since Jemma seems determined to never use her first name no matter how many times she asks. She regrets allowing even that little bit of her frustration to show almost immediately.

Jemma had finally bucked up the courage to look the blonde agent in the eye when she had responded to her statement about PT. Whether it’s the lighting of the room, the expression on Agent Morse’s face, or the tone of her response, Jemma will never know, but something about that moment throws her so forcefully back into her memories that the tablet in her hand falls to the floor, clattering loudly as it lands.

At first, Bobbi thinks Jemma is just surprised and maybe a little clumsy as a result. As she continues to stare, at first blankly and then in horror, Bobbi realizes something much more serious is going on.

* * *

The memory is more than a flash this time. She finally gets a whole scene of her forgotten past, but she wishes more than anything that none of her memories had returned if this is what she had been doing for the past year.

In the memory, she is working in a lab, a huge lab at that, with dozens of other people she assumes to be scientists. As alarms ring in her ears, she stands and watches as a man and woman charge into the room, instructing everyone to move away from their desks while they investigate who has been ferrying Hydra intelligence to SHIELD. Though her hair is dark, the woman in her memory is unmistakably Agent Morse.

Light a deer caught in headlights, Jemma stands motionless as the rest of the memory washes over her. She remembers Agent Morse approaching her and reciting her career history and credentials. She remembers the menacing insignia flashing at her from walls, equipment, pins, and folders. She remembers stating emphatically, “My loyalties are with Hydra,” and watching Agent Morse level her with a cool, unconvinced stare. She remembers the fear and anxiety of that moment.

What she doesn’t remember is how she came to be at the Hydra lab or what she was trying to accomplish. She doesn’t remember that she was undercover. She doesn’t remember any of the details that would spare her the absolute panic that quickly overwhelms her system.

* * *

Unable to move more than a few inches due to her injuries and the slings stabilizing several of her limbs, Bobbi can only watch in horror as Jemma begins to hyperventilate. She tries calling her name a few times, but nothing seems to snap her out of the trance that has taken hold.

Seeing that her efforts aren’t having any effect, Bobbi has the sense to press the call button on the wall next to her bed to bring in reinforcements. Fortunately, Hunter responds, and she directs him to get Fitz, Coulson, Skye, and May down to the med bay as soon as possible. Jemma has only seemed truly comfortable with the members of her original team, and Bobbi hopes that having them near will help Jemma calm down.

Once she ends the call with Hunter, Bobbi resumes calling out to her struggling teammate. She has just finished barking out “Agent Simmons” when Jemma snaps back to reality and the rest of the team arrives.

Still sucking in air ineffectually, Jemma meets the older agent’s concerned eyes, though hers relay nothing except abject fear and panic.

“You’re Hydra,” Jemma wheezes out, though it’s barely audible.

“What?” Bobbi questions, having not been able to make sense of the soft words under Jemma’s labored breathing.

Louder, Jemma repeats, “You’re Hydra,” as her body begins to shake.

“No! Jemma, it’s not true,” Bobbi tries to reason, having no idea what interaction or conversation Jemma must have remembered while she was in her trance. Of course, it would be something like this. Of course she couldn’t remember Bobbi saving her or any of the other positive moments they had together. It just had to be their undercover work at Hydra before Jemma knew she was SHIELD too.

“It is. I remember. The lab. The investigation. Oh, god!,” Jemma cries out, her confusion and agony clearly apparent. “I’m Hydra?” She whirls around, meeting Fitz’s troubled gaze.

“I’m Hydra,” she confesses in anguish, suspecting that he must know this already. No wonder he looks concerned. She’d promised him. She vividly remembers him asking her for that assurance by the side of a pool after they discovered Ward’s betrayal, and she’d told him with conviction that she wasn’t.

Except now it seems that she was. How had her loyalties been swayed? What had happened that was enough of an incentive for her to abandon SHIELD? For her to abandon Fitz? In this moment, she feels like she’ll never be able to trust herself again. What other horrors will her memory unleash?

* * *

Stunned, Fitz watches as Jemma breaks down. Less than an hour ago she had popped by the lab to kiss his cheek, a sunny smile on her face even if she did seem a bit peaky. Now, she has tears streaming from her eyes and an expression of utter confusion and distress on her face. As he puts the pieces together from her few words, his thoughts mirror Bobbi’s. Of all the things from the past year that she could have remembered, why did it have to be that?

Unwilling to watch her suffer, Fitz moves quickly to pull her into a comforting embrace. She resists at first, too shocked by this latest revelation to feel that she deserves his comfort, but she eventually melts into his arms as the shock pulls the last bit of strength from her body.

Sensing her impending collapse, Fitz gently lowers them to the floor where she curls up, crying into his shoulder as her hand grips his sweater so tightly her knuckles turn white. “I’m Hydra,” she continues to mumble, each time her torment increasing, especially when she finally voices the newest fear that has taken root: “I’m like Ward.”

“No, Jemma, no!” Fitz shushes quietly but emphatically. “You’re not. You weren’t.” He isn’t such how much she’ll be willing to hear given her request to be told only what is necessary to do her work, but he can’t let her believe that she had betrayed them like Ward had.

Coulson comes to the same conclusion as he hears her tormented confession. Squatting just beside them, he places his right hand over her clenched fingers in an effort to soothe.

“Agent Simmons,” he begins, before correcting his approach. “Jemma. Jemma, look at me, please.”

It takes a moment, but she eventually turns her bloodshot eyes to him, and he winces at the pain he sees swirling in them, but he continues on.

“I know that you don’t want to risk your recovery, but you need to know at least the basics of your connection and Agent Morse’s to Hydra. I don’t want you to continue suffering when a simple explanation could prevent it. Will you let me explain?” he pleads. He knows she will have a hard enough time coping with the rest of her memories. This at least he can fix if she’ll let him.

They all wait on bated breath as she continues to cry softly and weigh her options. It’s sooner than she would like, especially since this is the first substantial memory she has had, but she can’t reconcile what she knows about herself and this memory anyway. Ultimately, she decides she is far more likely to pull away from them by not understanding what she has just remembered than she is if she allows Coulson to fill in some of the gaps.

Nodding tentatively, she murmurs, “Just the basics, please?”

Relieved, Coulson squeezes her hand before speaking: “You went undercover at one of Hydra’s lab to gather intel for me. Bobbi was there too as the head of the security team, gathering her own intel and watching out for you. Neither of you were ever really Hydra. You were there as SHIELD agents. When your cover was blown, you both returned here.”

There, he thinks, that should be enough for her to make sense of whatever she has remembered without giving too much away. He hadn’t mentioned Bakshi, Whitehall, or the obelisk. He hadn’t brought up Reina or Trip. Most especially, he hadn’t mentioned her first interaction with Fitz upon her return to the base. Still, his meager explanation must have helped because he sees some of the tension drain from her form, though tears continue to fall every so often from her eyes. Gripping her hand one last time, Coulson moves away and ushers the rest of the team out of the room to give them as much privacy as he can.

“Thank you, sir,” she manages to say as he retreats, before tucking her forehead back against Fitz’s neck in an attempt to quell the lingering trembles running up and down her body. Coulson’s brief statements have quieted the worst of her fears. She isn’t a traitor at least. But his words have left her with more questions. Her inability to lie had become something of a joke between them after the catastrophe on the train and with Sitwell. Why was she suddenly trusted with undercover work? How long was she there? Why did she consent to go in the first place? She tries to ignore her need to press for more answers. Now isn’t the time to throw herself headfirst into memory jogging. Nothing good will come of it if the rest of her memories are anything like this one.

* * *

For several minutes, the room remains silent other than Jemma’s intermittent sniffles and the low, steady hum of Bobbi’s monitoring equipment. When she finally feels like she’ll be able to stand without collapsing, Jemma pulls away from Fitz. He’s no stranger to her tears, but she feels embarrassed for falling to pieces. Eyes averted, she stands and takes in a few deep breaths as he also returns to his feet.

Sensing her unease, he grabs her hand before ducking down to try to catch her eyes. “Jem?” he calls softly. Unable to resist his tender entreaty, she lifts her head to look at him, one final tear falling down her cheek. He is quick to lift his other hand to gently wipe it away. He hates to see her in pain, and he fears that this moment of collapse is only foreshadowing the many more that are to come. He can only imagine what her reaction will be when she remembers the other events of the past year, including his treatment of her for most of it.

Nevertheless, he’s been given a second chance to help her deal with those traumas, and he won’t waste it. He’d pushed her aside and forced her to try to cope alone then, but now he’ll be right beside her the whole damn time if she’ll let him.

“We’ll figure it out together,” he promises sincerely, sense that she needs that reassurance most of all.

She gives him a watery smile before turning her attention to Bobbi. Pulling her shoulders back as if that will give her courage, she meets the gaze of her supposed teammate and fellow Hydra impersonator. If her grip on Fitz’s hand turns painful as she struggles to maintain her composure, he shows no evidence of it. Other than Coulson’s explanation, she has no evidence on which to base her opinion of this woman other than her memory. Still, she trusts Coulson, and if he says she is their teammate, she must be, and Jemma will do everything she can to help her recover even if she wants to do nothing but hide from her.

“I’ll be by to check up on you later, Agent Morse,” she promises.

“Bobbi. Please, Jemma. Call me Bobbi,” Bobbi responds.

“Bobbi,” Jemma says slowly, surprised when the word seems to feel so natural coming out of her mouth. Perhaps Agent Morse has had a point in her non-stop requests. “I’ll be back later, Bobbi,” she reconfirms before tugging Fitz out of the med bay toward his room.

* * *

“I know you need to work,” she babbles as he opens his door, “so please don’t feel like you need to sit with me, but could I just, please, stay here for a while?”

She’s feeling suddenly shy and unsure now that she has to contend with her first significant memory, but he takes it all in stride. He motions for her to sit on the bed as he rifles through his drawers. Plucking out a pair of flannel bottoms and a threadbare cotton shirt, he turns back toward her and presents his offerings.

“Why don’t you change into something more comfortable while I go get you a cuppa?”

The soft smile that graces her face soothes both of them, as does the tender kiss he presses against her forehead as he leaves to go make her tea. As she swaddles herself in the soft fabric containing the barest hint of his scent, she feels another band of anxiety loosen. If she has learned anything today, she realizes that getting her memories back is likely to be as traumatic as finding out she had lost them in the first place. Still, with Fitz by her side, she feels like she might be able to make it through the experience, even if she is a little bruised and battered in the end. In the past ten years, there has never been anything they couldn’t overcome together.

With that comforting thought drowning out the remainder of her anxiety and fear, at least for the moment, she settles into a more comfortable position to wait for his return. Once she sends him back to the lab after his almost guaranteed few minutes of fussing over her, she’ll spend a few hours here, drinking tea and working from her tablet before facing the rest of the base again. Content with her plan, she wriggles down a little further, her movement releasing a scent that is purely Fitz from the bedding: a bit of his cologne mixed with the scent of clean laundry, a whiff of solder, and just a hint of the acrid tang that seems to permeate the lab no matter how attentively they clean it. It’s the smell she most associates with being home, and it more than anything other than Fitz himself helps to calm her.

When he returns, the cup of chamomile sending soft swirls of steam into the air, he finds her fast asleep on his bed, her nose buried in his pillow and her limbs completely lax. In sleep, she looks more like herself than she ever does awake, even now that she isn’t carrying most of her memories from the past year. Each day, there is a bit more tension in her face. He knows that she’s trying to hide it from him, and he wishes she wouldn’t. He’d happily help her carry whatever burden she is trying to manage alone.

Setting the tea down on the side table, he reaches out to brush a lock of her hair off her cheek, and smiles reflexively as she does when she feels his fingertips on her face. She doesn’t wake, but she does shift a little as if chasing the fleeting feeling of his skin on hers. He obliges her unconscious request by pressing another kiss to her forehead before leaving her to resume his work in the lab, though not before jotting a brief note to her to come find him when she’s wakes.

Despite the apparent ease she has somehow managed to find in this moment, he can’t shake the feeling that today has just been the tip of the iceberg, and he is wary for what is to come. He only hopes that she continues to let him in as she had done today instead of shutting him out. Given what she has left to remember and how they both reacted to each other in the year she’s missing, he fears neither of them will survive that level of emotional or physical separation again. Determined not to let history repeat itself, he starts planning a surprise for her. The tricky part will be convincing Coulson to let them both off base. Still, if anyone deserves a chance to make new, happy memories, it’s Jemma, and Fitz won’t let anything prevent her from doing so. He’ll do anything to keep her brilliant smile on her face. Anything. 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever since Jemma went off the deep end circa episode eleven in season two, I’ve been waiting for some kind of reconciliation between her and Skye. Honestly, so many of Jemma’s story arcs from season two still aren’t resolved and that bothers me. She and Fitz never talk about why she actually went to Hydra. She and Skye never find their friendship again. She never talks to anyone about killing Bakshi while going after Ward. And then, of course, she gets sucked into the monolith. I really just want her character to have some time to cope with all that trauma and find a sense of closure. 
> 
> We still have some angsty bits to get through in this fic. We all know what happened in season two, so clearly most of what Jemma is going to remember for the rest of this story isn’t going to be pleasant. She’s going to get more confused and anxious as additional bits and pieces come back to her, especially when she starts to remember her interactions with Fitz. And Fitz is going to scramble trying to make things right. He’ll get his due for being such a putz for most of last season, but I won’t be too mean since he really is a sweetheart at his core, as we see clearly in this season. 
> 
> Never fear, even though parts of this will probably be rough, as most of you know or could guess based on what I write, I am a diehard FitzSimmons shipper through and through, so our poor science darlings will be together and stronger because of it in the end. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy.


End file.
